"
The echoes of gunfire, the scent of blood, and the sheer brutality of what I had done still clung to my mind, refusing to fade away. It had been a necessary action—every single bit of it—but that didn't make it any less intense or easy for me.
"Father, are you okay?" Magina's voice broke through the silence, her usually calm tone tinged with concern.
I let out a slow breath, gripping onto reality. "I'm fine," I assured her, though my own words sounded hollow even to myself. "Can you run the analysis of our operation just now?"
"Yes, of course. Running analysis now," Magina responded immediately. There was a brief pause before she added, "Welcome home, father."
I chuckled dryly. "Yeah. Home. Safe and in one piece."
It didn't quite feel that way. My mind was still swimming in the sheer violence I had unleashed back at the White Devil Bar. I knew that I had given in to my emotions back there, acted more on vengeance than tactical precision that I envisioned. That needed to be addressed, but for now, I wanted nothing more than to wash away the grime of battle.
Still dressed in my gear, I headed straight for the shower. I turned on the water, stepping under the scalding heat, letting it cascade over me and soak through my clothes. I had no interest in peeling off my combat suit, scrubbing each piece separately, when I could just clean both myself and my attire in one go. Efficient and practical—just how I liked it. The water swirled down the drain, tinged red. Blood—both mine and my enemies'. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation ground me, my mind drifting back to the carnage I had left behind, and also thinking on the aspect of how I can improve more on my actions and modus operandi.
By the time I stepped out, towel draped over my shoulders, Magina had completed the analysis. I settled in front of my PC, the glow of multiple screens casting sharp blue light against the darkened room.
"You could have completed the operation in under ten minutes, Sir," Magina stated, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of objective precision. "Instead, you took thirty minutes."
I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my damp hair. "Makes sense," I muttered. "I vented a lot of my anger in there. White Rider MC was one of Dietrich Voss's tentacles, the ver same one who took me off the street and taking them out… felt personal."
"Your methods were rather too… savage and ruthless," Magina observed. "This anger and rage—if left unchecked—could become a problem later on."
I exhaled sharply. She wasn't wrong. Back at the bar, I had let loose in ways that even I wasn't accustomed to. I had cut, gutted, and blasted my way through every single one of them, leaving nothing but corpses in my wake. And, disturbingly enough, that satisfaction still lingered within me.
"Perhaps you need an outlet to channel these negative emotions," Magina suggested. "It is unhealthy to continue like this….and what is worrying is that there Is 70% that, that uncontrolled emotional state would lead to unintended mistake…"
I tapped my fingers against the desk, considering her words. "Maybe," I admitted. "But when it comes to all things Dietrich Voss-related, this rage feels… pure. Justified. As if this is the last remaining wish of the old me—the one who was tortured, experimented on, and discarded."
Magina went silent for a moment, as if processing my words. Then, she asked, "That is an interesting fact, perhaps a lingering emotion tied to the old you? Is that possible?"
I let out a dry laugh. "Magina, in this world, anything is possible. A purple man wanted to wipe out half the universe just to impress a chick and get laid…. I think, this situation of mine isn't that far-fetched."
Her holographic interface flickered slightly, a sign that she was deep in thought. I, on the other hand, leaned forward, resting my arms on my desk. "I have a feeling that only when Dietrich Voss is dead—by my hand—will I be able to truly control these raging emotions of mine."
"That is a possibility, and you want continue down this path, for now I supposed?" she asked.
"Yes, partly too confirmed it…" I said, without hesitation. "It was liberating to let loose like that, those sorts of people need to be put down like that, a law and order were nothing to them, but the aftermath of my actions is… well, anyone who saw it would chalk me up as a deranged psychopath."
At the White Devil Bar, I had left behind a clear message—a four-headed dragon drawn in blood. A symbol resembling HYDRA, but with one head severed while the remaining three loomed. A warning. A declaration of war.
Dietrich Voss would understand what it meant soon enough. The severed head represented White Rider MC—the first of his many hidden assets that I had cut off. The remaining three? One was himself. The other two were the police and the DA in his pocket. The very channels that allowed him to operate in the shadows, kidnapping people off the streets for his twisted experiments.
He wouldn't know who was coming after him. Not yet. He would only see his allies fall, one by one, helpless to stop it. And when the time came, when there was no one left to shield him, he would finally understand what true fear was.
"Magina, status report on the White Devil Bar?" I asked.
"Power has been restored, back to normal by the city…" she replied.
"Officially, it was caused by a computer short-circuiting…No police investigations have been launched. Additionally, there are no recordings or traces of our presence in the area. The bar is currently abandoned, and it is unlikely that anyone will discover what happened there until tomorrow morning at the earliest."
"Good." I rose from my chair, stepping toward the corkboard mounted on the wall. My eyes locked onto the list of targets. I picked up a marker and dragged a thick black line through 'White Rider MC.' One down. Three to go.
"Magina, begin preparations for our second target."
"Yes, Sir. Adjusting priority to second target on the list: District Attorney Arthur 'Art' Maxwell. Target location identified. Observation protocol initiated."
As I stared at Maxwell's name, my grip on the marker tightened. This was just the beginning. Dietrich Voss would feel the weight of his sins, and he would know, without a shadow of a doubt, that retribution was coming for him. And I would be the one delivering it.
The morning after the long blackout brought an unexpected and gruesome revelation that sent shockwaves through New York City. The NYPD was thrown into chaos following a series of frantic phone calls reporting a mass killing. The entire precinct reeled upon learning that the notorious White Rider Motorcycle Club had been wiped out overnight.
Dozens of officers swarmed the crime scene, cordoning off the area and meticulously combing through the devastation left behind at the infamous White Devil Bar in Brooklyn. The usual noise and unruliness that defined the gang's stronghold had been replaced by an eerie silence, punctuated only by the murmurs of horrified law enforcement officials.
Detective Misty Knight, one of the first officers to arrive, frowned deeply as she stepped onto the scene. She had seen her fair share of brutality in her career, but nothing quite like this. The moment she arrived, she noticed officers entering the bar, only to stumble back out seconds later, pale-faced and vomiting onto the pavement. That was all she needed to understand the level of carnage awaiting her inside.
Not long after, Captain George Stacy arrived, his gaze immediately drawn to a group of detectives standing stiffly near their vehicles, their hands clutching handkerchiefs over their mouths. The sight puzzled him—his officers weren't even inside working the scene.
"Knight, what happened here? And what's that horrible smell?" Captain Stacy asked, his expression tight with concern.
Detective Misty Knight forced a dry smile. "It's the crime scene, Captain. That awful smell is coming from in there. And before you go in… brace yourself."
"Alright," He nodded,
His expression hardening as he pushed through the bar doors. The stench hit him first—coppery, metallic, thick with death. Then his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, and what he saw made his stomach tighten. Blood pooled across the wooden floorboards, viscera clung to the walls, and bullet holes and slashing cuts marred every inch of the space. It was more than just a massacre—it was a message.
His gaze eventually landed on a particular body sprawled in the middle of the bar. The man's jacket was unmistakable, its insignia glaring back at him even through the gore.
"Is that…?" Captain Stacy began, his voice trailing off.
"Matthew White," Misty interjected grimly, stepping beside him. "And over there—Donald Riot. But White…" She exhaled sharply. "He got it the worst. Whoever did this didn't just kill him. They wanted him to suffer."
Captain Stacy took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. "How bad?"
Misty's gaze hardened. "Tortured. Every inch of him tells a story of pain. And when they finally ended him…" She gestured toward his head, or what remained of it. "An entire clip emptied straight into his skull. This was a revenge-driven execution."
Captain Stacy clenched his jaw. "How many casualties in total?"
"All of them," Misty replied without hesitation. "Every single gang member was in this bar last night, and all of them were killed during the blackout."
A tense silence stretched between them before Stacy ran a frustrated hand down his face. "Damn it. If the blackout is connected to this, then things just got a lot bigger. We might need to call in the FBI for this... This is a mess…. Sigh~ not how I wanted to start my day today,"
As he turned to leave the crime scene, his frustration evident, something else caught his attention—a detective standing outside the police perimeter, visibly shaking. Detective Miles Corbin had seen the carnage but opted to remain outside. He was paler than the rest, his hands trembling as he scrolled through his phone.
A few minutes later, the FBI arrived on the scene, led by Senior Agent Isabella Diaz. The FBI worked together with the police amicably, knowing that the case seems to become bigger, as all the FBI agents walked all over the place, Senior Agent Isabella Diaz secretly, without hesitation, she made a beeline for Miles, her eyes narrowing in annoyance.
"Miles, what's with the sudden call? You better have a good reason for calling my private number…," Isabella demanded.
Miles swallowed hard before responding. "Izzy, it was Matthew White and the entire White Rider MC… They're all dead. Brutally killed. And the killer left this."
With shaky hands, he handed her his phone, the screen displaying an image of White's mutilated chest. A symbol was carved into his flesh—a four-headed dragon.
Isabella's expression darkened. "Hydra." She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. "So, what are you saying? Someone's hunting them? Or hunting us?"
Miles' fingers clenched into fists. "I don't know, but whatever this is, it's big. Too big…for the 2 of us…do you think Dietrich Voss—"
Isabella shot him a warning glare before shoving the phone back into his hands. "Shut up, Corbin. Don't say that name out loud. Ever…. You don't know who's listening...Just shut up and wait….do NOT do anything stupid, you hear? Good!"
Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked toward the crime scene, leaving him standing there, his mind racing. Neither of them knew it yet, but a seed of fear had been planted—a seed that would soon grow into something far more dangerous.
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A/N
Thanks Joe Thigpen, Junior Chan and Cultic239 for your support~
kinda happy seeing people liking this fic. anyway, you all next week,
BTW Episode 41-50 and 51-60 would be released on my Ko-fi Page soon, got swamped by work so suddenly and some health issues, thanks for your support, folks~